Analyse poétique

History by John Burnside (1955-)

Original Poetry

Translation

History by John Burnside (1955-)

Today, while we flew kites, the sand spun off in ribbons along the beach, and the smell of gasoline from Leuchars blew across the golf course. The tide was far out and looked gray in the distance. People were jogging or stopping to watch as the war planes curved and turned in the morning light. Today, with the news on my mind and a quiet fear of what might happen, I knelt in the sand with Lucas, picking up shells and pebbles, finding signs of life in all this debris: snail shells, bits of razorfish, smudges of seaweed and flesh on stones worn by the tide. Sometimes I think what defines us isn't family or our given roles, but something lost between the world we have and what we dream of behind names. On days like this, our kite strings are raised in the wind, our bodies steady and anchored to the shore. Even though we're limited by ownership, what connects us to gravity and light is mostly about distance and the shapes we see in water, reading from the book of mud and tides: the pink or blue of jellyfish and sea anemones mixing with a child's first nakedness. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with the fear of losing everything—the sea, the sky, all living things, forests, river mouths. We give up so much to understand the digital world that we barely notice the pull and drift of other bodies, barely notice the moment as it happens: changes in light and weather, and the quiet, local forms of history: the fish caught in the tide beyond the sands; the long sleeplessness of decorative carp in public parks, trapped and bright, hanging in their own slow-burning, temporary gold; jars of fish eggs and sticklebacks or goldfish taken home from fairs to the sound of the radio. But this is the challenge: how to be alive in this world we look at and cherish, and do no harm. A toddler on a beach sifting wood and dried seaweed from the sand, puzzled by the pattern on a shell. His parents on the low dunes with a kite, connected to the sky, all nerves and strings: patient, afraid, but still, through everything, paying attention to what cannot be saved.

St Andrews: West Sands; September 2001

Today

as we flew the kites

- the sand spinning off in ribbons along the beach

and that gasoline smell from Leuchars gusting across

the golf links;

the tide far out

and quail-grey in the distance;

people

jogging, or stopping to watch

as the war planes cambered and turned

in the morning light –

today

- with the news in my mind, and the muffled dread

of what may come –

I knelt down in the sand

with Lucas

gathering shells

and pebbles

finding evidence of life in all this

driftwork:

snail shells; shreds of razorfish;

smudges of weed and flesh on tideworn stone.

At times I think what makes us who we are

is neither kinship nor our given states

but something lost between the world we own

and what we dream about behind the names

on days like this

our lines raised in the wind

our bodies fixed and anchored to the shore

and though we are confined by property

what tethers us to gravity and light

has most to do with distance and the shapes

we find in water

reading from the book

of silt and tides:

the rose or petrol blue

of jellyfish and sea anemone

combining with a child's

first nakedness.

Sometimes I am dizzy with the fear

of losing everything - the sea, the sky,

all living creatures, forests, estuaries:

we trade so much to know the virtual

we scarcely register the drift and tug

of other bodies

scarcely apprehend

the moment as it happens: shifts of light

and weather

and the quiet, local forms

of history: the fish lodged in the tide

beyond the sands;

the long insomnia

of ornamental carp in public parks

captive and bright

and hung in their own

slow-burning

transitive gold;

jamjars of spawn

and sticklebacks

or goldfish carried home

from fairgrounds

to the hum of radio;

but this is the problem: how to be alive

in all this gazed-upon and cherished world

and do no harm

a toddler on a beach

sifting wood and dried weed from the sand

and puzzled by the pattern on a shell

his parents on the dune slacks with a kite

plugged into the sky

all nerve and line:

patient; afraid; but still, through everything

attentive to the irredeemable.

Explanation

John Burnside's poem 'History' is a reflective piece that juxtaposes the serene act of flying kites on a beach with the underlying tension of global events, specifically the September 11 attacks. The poem opens with a vivid description of a day at St Andrews beach, capturing the sensory details of the environment. The poet contrasts this peaceful scene with the ominous presence of warplanes and the 'muffled dread' of the news, symbolizing the intrusion of global events into personal spaces. As the speaker kneels in the sand with a child, collecting shells and pebbles, he meditates on the nature of identity and existence, suggesting that what defines us is not our relationships or societal roles, but the intangible dreams and aspirations we hold. The poem explores themes of connection and disconnection, both with the natural world and within human relationships. Burnside reflects on the fear of losing the natural world and the challenge of remaining present and attentive in a world increasingly dominated by virtual experiences. The imagery of marine life and the child's innocence underscores the fragility and beauty of life, while the poem's closing lines emphasize the importance of being attentive to the 'irredeemable' aspects of existence, urging a mindful engagement with the world.

Word Dictionary15

Word	Easy Meaning	Translation	Pron.
cambered	arched, curved	slightly curved or arched	cam-berd
tideworn	worn by the tide	shaped by the tide	tide-worn
driftwork	debris, remnants	debris left by the tide	drift-work
transitive	temporary, passing	temporary or changing	tran-si-tive
irredeemable	unable to be saved	cannot be saved or changed	ir-re-deem-a-ble
kinship	family relationship	family connection	kin-ship
estuary	river mouth	where river meets sea	es-tu-ar-y
ornamental	decorative	for decoration	or-na-men-tal
insomnia	sleeplessness	can't sleep	in-som-ni-a
silt	fine sand, mud	fine earth particles	silt
anemone	sea creature	sea animal with tentacles	a-nem-o-ne
tether	tie, bind	to tie or bind	teth-er
quail-grey	gray like a quail	gray like a quail	quail-grey
gazed-upon	looked at	looked at or observed	gazed-upon
dune slacks	low areas in dunes	low areas between dunes	dune slacks

Poet & Context

PoetJohn Burnside

EraContemporary

John Burnside was a Scottish writer known for his poetry and prose. He won the T. S. Eliot Prize and the Forward Poetry Prize for his book 'Black Cat Bone' in 2011. Burnside's work often explores themes of nature, memory, and the human condition.

View on Wikipedia

WhenSeptember 2001

WhyThe poem 'History' by John Burnside reflects on the events of September 11, 2001, and the impact of such historical moments on personal and collective consciousness. It explores themes of loss, fear, and the struggle to find meaning in a world marked by tragedy.

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

NatureFearIdentityConnectionLoss

Literary devices

Imagery: Vivid descriptions of the beach and natural elements.Juxtaposition: Contrasting peaceful beach scenes with the tension of global events.Metaphor: Use of natural elements to symbolize human emotions and fears.Alliteration: Repetition of consonant sounds, e.g., 'slow-burning', 'transitive gold'.Symbolism: Kites and shells symbolizing innocence and the passage of time.

Analyse poétique

History by John Burnside (1955-)

Original Poetry

Translation

History by John Burnside (1955-)

St Andrews: West Sands; September 2001

Today

as we flew the kites

- the sand spinning off in ribbons along the beach

and that gasoline smell from Leuchars gusting across

the golf links;

the tide far out

and quail-grey in the distance;

people

jogging, or stopping to watch

as the war planes cambered and turned

in the morning light –

today

- with the news in my mind, and the muffled dread

of what may come –

I knelt down in the sand

with Lucas

gathering shells

and pebbles

finding evidence of life in all this

driftwork:

snail shells; shreds of razorfish;

smudges of weed and flesh on tideworn stone.

At times I think what makes us who we are

is neither kinship nor our given states

but something lost between the world we own

and what we dream about behind the names

on days like this

our lines raised in the wind

our bodies fixed and anchored to the shore

and though we are confined by property

what tethers us to gravity and light

has most to do with distance and the shapes

we find in water

reading from the book

of silt and tides:

the rose or petrol blue

of jellyfish and sea anemone

combining with a child's

first nakedness.

Sometimes I am dizzy with the fear

of losing everything - the sea, the sky,

all living creatures, forests, estuaries:

we trade so much to know the virtual

we scarcely register the drift and tug

of other bodies

scarcely apprehend

the moment as it happens: shifts of light

and weather

and the quiet, local forms

of history: the fish lodged in the tide

beyond the sands;

the long insomnia

of ornamental carp in public parks

captive and bright

and hung in their own

slow-burning

transitive gold;

jamjars of spawn

and sticklebacks

or goldfish carried home

from fairgrounds

to the hum of radio;

but this is the problem: how to be alive

in all this gazed-upon and cherished world

and do no harm

a toddler on a beach

sifting wood and dried weed from the sand

and puzzled by the pattern on a shell

his parents on the dune slacks with a kite

plugged into the sky

all nerve and line:

patient; afraid; but still, through everything

attentive to the irredeemable.

Explanation

Word Dictionary15

Word	Easy Meaning	Translation	Pron.
cambered	arched, curved	slightly curved or arched	cam-berd
tideworn	worn by the tide	shaped by the tide	tide-worn
driftwork	debris, remnants	debris left by the tide	drift-work
transitive	temporary, passing	temporary or changing	tran-si-tive
irredeemable	unable to be saved	cannot be saved or changed	ir-re-deem-a-ble
kinship	family relationship	family connection	kin-ship
estuary	river mouth	where river meets sea	es-tu-ar-y
ornamental	decorative	for decoration	or-na-men-tal
insomnia	sleeplessness	can't sleep	in-som-ni-a
silt	fine sand, mud	fine earth particles	silt
anemone	sea creature	sea animal with tentacles	a-nem-o-ne
tether	tie, bind	to tie or bind	teth-er
quail-grey	gray like a quail	gray like a quail	quail-grey
gazed-upon	looked at	looked at or observed	gazed-upon
dune slacks	low areas in dunes	low areas between dunes	dune slacks

Poet & Context

PoetJohn Burnside

EraContemporary

View on Wikipedia

WhenSeptember 2001

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

NatureFearIdentityConnectionLoss

Literary devices